Silent Bridges
by KrzyKid247
Summary: I couldn't forgive myself for what I'd done. I messed with someone's life, someone's purity, and I felt like scum.  Rape. NaruSasu in later chapters. ON HIATUS
1. Prologue

**A/N:**_ Okay, so, I haven't been on FFN for a while now I realize, a couple of months or so. And I feel like shit for leaving all of you hanging on my other stories. If you're still a dedicated fan of mine, don't be surprised if I disappoint you now and time again later on in the future. I'll try to keep writing on my other workings, but I doubt I'll have time. I apologize to the lot of you and hope you all forgive me for my lack of dedication._

_On the bright side, I've made a new story this time around. It's not much, but it's something I've had since a couple of weeks ago; I thought this was a great story idea and I decided to post it up here. I hope you all like it. It's dark-themed, as subjected to the title, so don't flame me later on about this, please._

_Anyway, thank you for taking the time to read this bit of information. I trust you all to have faith in me and wish me back into loving my stories. Ideas are welcomed greatly. Thank you._

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><p><strong><em>Summary<em>**

_I couldn't forgive myself for what I'd done. I messed with someone's life, someone's purity, and I felt like scum. [Rape. NaruSasu in later chapters.]_

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><p><strong><em>Silent Bridges<em>**

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><p>Lightning flashed. Thunder roared. Rain fell into sad drops of despair onto the top of my head, flattening my hair against my brow, and cascading down the sides of my cheeks and onto the small naked, shaking figure on the ground. My heart crashed against my ribs. My hands clenched into fists at the sight of the battered boy before me.<p>

I couldn't believe that I was the sole cause of this. I was responsible for this unforgivable deed. I did the worst inhumane thing possible that one person could ever do to another person. This boy of age sixteen was perfect evidence of what kind of person I clearly was beneath the surface of my true self. And all because I wanted to be accepted by the people I so clearly ached attention from. But I found out too late that they were monsters; they made me. They forced me to steal the innocence away from him, from a complete stranger. It was the only way, they said. If I truly wanted to be in their group, I had to do it; I couldn't find myself to say no. Pressure and guilt caged my ability to deny to what they wanted me to do to someone I hardly knew. Someone we went to school with. A minor. A boy.

I was blinded by the idea of being accepted by a group of people I thought were the perfect people I could one day hope to call my friends. They seemed so cool and beautiful from afar. They had their beauty, their flawless skin, and their shining personalities. But it turned out they were the worst of the worst.

My assumption was unreal, veiled by the qualities I thought I was seeing from them, qualities I had only hoped for. I was the one at fault for any influence these people I'd hoped to call my 'friends' had over me. I was disgusted with myself. And I was horrified at what I was subjected to perform to a sole person. My human nature was destroyed; I was a monster, just like the strangers around me.

At my feet, the boy lay, curled into the fetal position, whimpering, crying, drowning in his tears and pain of the unwanted destruction of his purity and virtue. My heart crumbled at the sight in horror and hopelessness. I wanted to help him. I wanted to tell him I didn't mean to hurt him. 'I didn't do it of my own accord,' I wanted to say.

Rain still fell over us. Harder and harder. Thunder and lightning clashed in a horrific battle in the distance. The cold wetness blanketed him, I noticed. He welcomed the wetness calmly. He didn't care.

His clothes were abandoned somewhere on the ground, but he didn't reach for them. I wanted to, but instead didn't. I wanted to cover his shame that he so anxiously wanted to hide.

In the struggle, the calm before the storm, he covered himself constantly, red-faced with tears gushing down his cheeks, spluttering out words and sounds of protest and unreciprocated sounds of pleasure he didn't wish to relinquish. He bled. Internally and externally. Blood intermingled with the water sent down from the heavens and traveled carelessly in a journey towards the crevices and cracks of the world, the place where his life had fallen apart.

"…Your belt's still unbuckled, Uzumaki." Kiba stated coolly. I didn't care. I looked at him, loathing the whole point of his existence. But he wasn't looking at me. He stared down at the boy, almost as if significantly ecstatic about his anguish. He looked at me. And smirked. "You're in, by the way."

The second those words slipped from his lips, my lip threatened to curl up in disgust. Bile built up in my throat. I'd never think that rape would be part of initiation in being taking into like family by this atrocious group. I couldn't find words to say to him. I didn't smile. I stared at him in silent judgment and turned away from him, pushed my way through my new 'friends' and from the broken boy lying in the rain. They called out after me. I kept walking.

I had to get away. Being around the boy was hell. I couldn't look anywhere else without thinking about what I'd done to him first. I'd sinned and I had to find somewhere to relieve me of my mistake, even if such a thing wasn't possible. I just needed to tell someone. Anyone. I couldn't stand the idea of having to live with this secret. I began to ran, the rain slapping my face, as if telling me I deserved it, as if the man above knew what I'd done. He'd smite me if he could, the drops of rain whispered to me. I welcomed it, and thrived in the shrill pain of the wet.

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><p><strong>AN:** _I realize this is short, but it's only just the prologue. The rest will come in a longer chapter. If you could, I'd appreciate if you'd review._

_~With much love, KK247._


	2. Sick

_**A/N:** Another update. I really like this story. Didn't think I'd like it, but I must have found my calling. :)_

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><p><strong>Silent Bridges<strong>

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><p>The boy. He wasn't in pain. He wasn't crying. He was smiling. His dark, coal black eyes resembled that of a child and it made him look younger than he actually was. I didn't smile at him. In this dream, he was with a small child. His brother, it seemed. He resembled a lot of him. The same pale skin, dark eyes, ebony hair; everything. He was holding the older boy's hand. The small child looked at me with serious eyes. Contemplating about me. Questioning the idea of me.<p>

Strange, I thought, that a small child like this one could even begin to comprehend any doubt of anyone. But this was a dream, I reminded myself; anything could happen. I watched as the small child released his older brother's hand and walked towards me, growing taller and taller, features morphing into an exact duplicate of the other boy. I looked over the growing child's shoulder; the boy was fading away, the smile slowly fading away from existence. When I looked back at the child, he was no longer a child; he was the boy. His dark eyes bored into mine, his lips moved. He spoke words, but I couldn't hear what he was saying; the words came out muffled.

He approached me, watching me cautiously, taking me into his gaze, captivating me. I watched him, tantalized, as he walked around me. He stopped before me and his features were taken into light. He was covered in bruises, his lip was split open, his right eye was half-closed, purpling all around the area, and his hair was disheveled as if someone had messed around with it. I stared, horrorstruck. Did I do all of that damage last night? I wondered, scared. But he shook his head and stepped away from in front of me, revealing a mirror I hadn't notice was there until now.

Darkness suddenly fell over the dream. He faded. I gazed into the mirror and approached it with utter caution. My features suddenly morphed into the boy. He was flawless in the reflection. Beautiful.

I touched at my face and he touched his. I blinked, and he did too. I smiled, but he didn't. He glowered, and then he screamed, violent hunger glowing in his eyes, and he pulled me into the opposite world.

I woke with a start, drenched in sweat, breathing heavily. My heart rammed against my chest. I let out a quiet gasp for air and reached over to my nightstand, taking a long drink of water. It tasted acrid. I swallowed, but pulled the cup away quickly, only to discover blood on the edge. I groaned. I bit my tongue in the struggling midst of my dream.

I climbed out of bed in haste and walked to the restroom, switched on the light, and checked the severity of it. It wasn't that bad. Just a small bite. I swallowed again and wiped away at the sweat that had formed on my brow.

"It was a dream…" I murmured, calming myself. "Just a dream…"

But it seemed so real. I couldn't shake the feeling. I shook from head to toe, resettling myself into bed. I looked over at my alarm clock. 3:27 a.m. It had only been a couple of hours since I came home. Only a couple of hours had passed since I did what I did. Only a few more hours before I went in to school. I felt like throwing up. I was still in disbelief at what I'd done. Still horrified. The feelings I'd felt before hadn't passed, and I was sure, even in the light of the day, they wouldn't be so easy to banish. No one could live with a secret like this one. I knew I couldn't.

However, I still hadn't told anyone about stealing the boy's integrity. I couldn't bring myself to do it. I didn't want to go to jail. I'd committed the most heinous of crimes. I'd taken something that was precious to him. He was a minor. I was a legal eighteen year old, and that's what made the situation a whole lot worse. I was sure he'd press charges against me and get me thrown in jail, but I couldn't be all too sure; it looked as though he didn't care what happened to him. Or he did. I didn't remember much; I tried to block out the memory as much as I possibly could.

Memories came back to me, though, at the thought.

Rain fell in small drops, hitting my cheeks gently, caressing my skin in a light embrace. I'd felt cold and alone as I saw him sitting there, defenseless.

'He's right there, Uzumaki. All you gotta do is hold him down.' Kiba told me before he pushed me off towards him.

I knew that part. He didn't have to repeat it twice to me. That was the very thing I feared, however. I remember the boy was just sitting there on the edge of the curb, holding an umbrella and reading a book, too invoked in the adventure it withheld to even look up at the stranger before him. I didn't speak. I didn't need to. He looked up, confusion clear in his eyes. I'd almost turned around and walked away from him. I could have done it so easily. His eyes heeded me in such an intense way that I felt as if he knew what I was going to provoke. However, my mind was set, and I wasn't going to walk away from an opportunity like this one. Who was it going to hurt? I asked myself in the state of my blind common sense.

Everyone, I thought bitterly, fighting the reality of it all crushing down on me. I tasted blood again, but welcomed the taste now.

The memory of his skin, translucent, even in the rain, ensnared the senses of my being. I was attracted to him, no doubt about the idea that he was an underage boy. Much less, a boy. Unavoidable lust clouded my mind, and clawed at the tips of my fingers, aching for the touch of such alluring beauty he didn't know he possessed. His stare lured me closer and closer, as if under a spell. He suddenly closed his book and clutched it with such fervor that his skin took on an even paler white.

He hadn't said a word, but stood, ready to run away from the danger I was portraying. His lips, I remembered - oh, his lips - were quivering. He swallowed. Rain pelted us harder. I stared even harder at him and took one step forward. He took one back. The rain made his skin too irresistible. Even for me. And it took me over the edge, I remembered. A sort of animalistic hunger overtook my senses and I clutched at his arm fiercely. He registered pain. He let out a cry. My eyes roamed his body, craved release in that instant. My body suddenly felt hot, too hot even though the rain was a perfect temperature at the moment. I wanted to rid myself of my clothes and of his. My grip tightened its hold on him, and I started to grind up against his lithe body, feeling his muscles tense up and tighten with the unbearable and unexpected human contact he received from me. His breaths came out in short bursts of gasps, coal black eyes tightly shut.

'Stop…' He uttered, but it came out as a breathy moan, so I didn't take it seriously. To be honest, it turned me on a little more than I would have liked to.

Next thing I knew, I had him on the ground, pinned underneath me. His stuff lay abandoned by his head, wet and useless now.

Probably just like he felt, I thought bitterly. I couldn't go on. I couldn't relive the memory so easily after just a couple of hours time. These were still fresh wounds. Both for me and the boy. I'd never would have thought to hurt him as much as I would've liked to. But my mind thought differently in the heated moment of the remembrance.

His clothes were abandoned a few feet away from where we lay. His shame was exposed. He was naked. He didn't look like much of a boy from my point of view. He had the body of a man. Mature and statuesque and so plain beautiful that words weren't worthy enough to describe just that.

He strained to cover himself as I took in the pale, porcelain-like skin and the sweet, deep, shaping contours that his body took, taking in the sweet dip of his belly button, of his beauty altogether. He didn't try to run away as I studied him, but he did struggle a lot. However, I kept him in place with my hands clasping at both his wrists above his head and my knee jabbing into his thigh, stilling any movement from below the waist and above. I was under a spell. Allured by the way the rain pelted his chest and stomach and lolled down his side. It glistened like ice crystals and I couldn't seem to tear my eyes away from the sight. He shivered as I met his observant gaze, eyes glazed over with lust. I pressed against him and he stiffened, shutting his eyes as my girth pushed up against his shivering thigh. He felt me and he didn't like it; he didn't like how big I was. He struggled again, whimpering and uttering words of protest. I remember smirking in my state of insanity at the moment.

I unbuttoned my jeans, pulled out my weapon of choice and pressed into him gently at first, to which he sucked in a breath, chest rising and falling with secret gasps and whimpers of anxious despair to get whatever it was I wanted to do to him over with. My heart hammered against my chest. I was regretting doing this. I almost pulled back and walked away from it all. From the group of people I'd hoped to aspire to, from the naked boy pinned beneath me, from a life full of bad decisions to come in the later future. I could have done it so easily. But my rage of hot desire flared deep inside me again and I felt myself thrust into the boy without haste. He let out a cry, crying openly now. I released his wrists from my restraints and clutched onto his hips with demanding thrusts pushing into him, hurting him, bleeding him from the inside out. He was so tight.

Rain pelted us harder now.

The walls of his heat surrounded my length and I felt him constrict deep inside, moaning softly between his teeth, but obviously trying not to. I moaned as well. He stared at me with conflicted hurt in that teary-eyed gaze of his. I quickened my pace against him, moaning through gritted teeth as he was, turning away from his look, and he flailed against me, hitting me, yelling at me, crying. I thrust harder and deeper, ignoring it all and thrived in the heat that was coming from within him, disgusted with myself. He bled. I didn't see, but I felt something burst inside of him, and the liquid seeped through, making my actions become wetter than I would have liked to be. He clutched onto my forearms suddenly, digging blunt fingernails into my skin, and I made the mistake of looking at him. His eyes were tightly shut, his mouth open in a silent scream of pain intermingling with pleasure, and his delicious body racked and trembled with excitement seeping from every curve and place. His body rippled with pleasure, and he came. His body almost instantly went limp as did his length. I continued to fuck him without stopping, watching him as he slowly drifted off, and then, not long after, I filled him with my soul, my essence overflowing him with rage and pleasure, pain and disgust. I didn't know what to feel. I was numb from head to toe with shock at what I had done. Slowly, I pulled out of him and he squirmed uncomfortably, whimpering. He covered his face and curled up into a ball, crying softly as the rain above us poured sorrow onto his frail body and disappointment in my direction.

Thunder and lightning raged.

The Lord above scolded me.

The boy at my feet cried.

I felt guilty, dirty, and disgusted with myself. I didn't know I was capable of performing such atrocious actions. I couldn't believe it.

"He didn't deserve it. I could have prevented any of this from happening…" I muttered softly, resting my head in my hands, shoulders trembling. A raw emotion clawed up in my throat and I choked out a quiet cry. Tears fell down my cheeks shamelessly.

This was real, I contemplated. It had been years since I last cried, when my dad died. And this was the only other time I felt the necessity to do so; I repented what I did. I couldn't shake the horrible feeling of guilt that built up inside me. I'd never felt in such a way before. I was scared, shaking from head to toe of the consequences that were to come of this. The boy was so scared and full of pain I didn't doubt he was going to tell someone about what had happened.

I wondered about him. I wondered if he was still lying in the aftermath of the thunderstorm. I wondered if he was still crying. I wondered if he was asleep. I wondered how he felt.

I lay into the softness of my pillow, hugging it against my face, crying against it softly, burrowing the thoughts that were surfacing in my mind. I thought of the boy in his naked form. They weren't right. I was parading around his shame as if it was normal, as if I had some sort of right to do that. I didn't.

The image of him naked had me trembling. Trembling because it made me feel so good. Kind of like the way he made me feel when I raped him; it was sickening. I was on the verge of touching myself. I didn't understand. Why was I becoming such a bad person? What was wrong with me? Was I becoming like them? Was I destined to end up the same way they were? Delinquents? Cold, dead, unfeeling people?

I still had my common sense, thank God for that, so not all was lost, but I still couldn't seem to shake the image from my mind. I wanted to see the boy naked one more time. I ached for him. For his skin. For his heat. For his body. His beauty…

My heart thumped against my chest as I looked out the window. It was still raining, but only a light shower. Lightning flashed in the distance. Thunder no longer rumbled as much anymore. I wondered if he was still out there. Lying in the drizzling rain, too paralyzed of shock and pain and disgust to even move. I had to check. Just in case.

Quickly, I grabbed my sweater, slipped on some pants, put on my shoes and left the house as quietly as I possibly could, careful as to not wake my mother. I didn't think that he would honestly still be out in the rain, laying on the pavement helplessly, just waiting for someone to help him. But he was just raped; it could have been possible. I'd taken away the most valuable gift of his life and thrived in the aftermath of it in my moment of insanity, rubbing it in his face that I had done so. I was a sick guy. I reveled in the disturbed thought of it all. I wanted to die.

Droplets of rain pelted me gently, a kindness I did not deserve at any moment of my life, and I rushed even quicker to the exact spot where it all started, and, to my greatest surprise, whether I expected it or not, the boy lay there, still broken and battered and naked as I'd left him before.

My heart hammered against my ribs.

Why was he still lying there? Why had no one helped him? Was he dead?

I felt gasps rise up from my throat and my heart accelerated against my chest even quicker as I approached him.

He was still so pale white. Not even a pale white anymore actually; he was more of a dead color. Translucent, even. I panicked for my life and for his that he seemed to be losing. Dry blood pasted to his legs and from inside his thighs. My essence lingered as well. I looked away. I couldn't bear to look at him for a second more without the tears gushing out from my eyes and sobs racking me from the inside out.

"Please be alive…" I whispered raggedly, shaking, saying this mostly to him than to myself.

I set my fingers against his wrist gently. Beneath the flesh, his heart pumped faintly and strongly, fresh with life, but that still did not ease my pain. I felt myself hold my breath as his eyes suddenly fluttered open weakly. I went rigid as his gaze connected with mine. His coal black eyes registered my features, registering what I had caused to him hours ago, registering my existence. My heart continued to beat even faster. What would he say to me? Would he hit me? Would he be scared of me? I couldn't tell. He just stared at me with those eyes. And those eyes explained nothing of the current emotion burning through his veins. Those eyes were emotionless.

I grasped at the damp clothes that lay beside his head. He watched me. I covered him gently, careful as to not provoke or touch him in any strange way possible. I refrained from doing much in the moment. Especially looking him straight in the eye. But it was tricky. All I could think about was what he was thinking at the moment.

What was he capable of doing to me when I was so close to him? Could he hurt me even more than how I had hurt him? Would he even let me help him?

He looked away to the side suddenly, his white, porcelain-like, slender neck exposed. The light shower of rain grazed against the side of his cheek gently and lolled down towards that beautiful neck. I watched, tantalized, but tore my eyes away quickly. I felt as though my heart would burst out of my chest because he was provoking me again. I didn't know if I had strength enough to stop myself from doing something as stupid as hours earlier yet again. I stared at his beautiful figure yet again - I couldn't help myself - and took in the beautiful curve that his swan-like neck took. Took in the sweet curve of his hips that peeked through the coverings of clothes I settled over him, taunting me, and making me feel even more horrible than I would have liked to for ogling him. Ogling him like he was something I desired more than anything else in the world. I stared away. Lust wasn't a trustworthy friend.

He turned to look at me again and suddenly let out a breath, like if he hadn't let out a breath for a while, then he closed his eyes, drifting slightly into a light slumber. I felt myself watching him again, my gaze sweeping over his features briefly, but lingering at the sight and way his eyes fluttered open every so often. His heart pumped vivaciously against his throat. I swallowed; I had to get away from him.

He caused this burning in my stomach that I didn't know existed. Whether it was lust or guilt, it felt horrible. I couldn't be here anymore. At least not around him. I stood and turned around, readying myself to leave.

But… I couldn't just leave the boy there. It was still pouring rain. He was naked and lying in the middle of the street; it wasn't fair to him. As much as I wanted to help him, I couldn't bring myself to touch him, and I didn't think he'd let me either. Not even for help. However, at the moment, he seemed to be drifting off into sleep and it seemed as though he didn't mind my being here. Or if he did, he had a great way of showing no distaste for me. I shook as I settled my fingers underneath his naked back, heart racing quicker and quicker as he suddenly stiffened against my touch.

He made no movement to inch away. He accepted the touch as I slowly lifted him off the ground, covering his whole body with the remainder of his shredded clothes. I gathered the rest of his things with little difficulty, his bag and umbrella dangling from the tip of my pinky. His head rested against my chest tentatively and his fingers curled into my shirt desperately, tightly. I looked down at him. His eyes were shut. His lips quivered. But it wasn't because of the cold and unwelcome rain that poured down on his sensitive skin. He was crying. Hot tears meshed against my once dry shirt, intermingling with the cold, pouring rain, causing me to shiver at the soft touch of his woe against my chest. I walked down the dark, empty street slowly, with no plan of path in mind. I didn't know where he lived, yet I wasn't about to ask him at this specific moment when he was releasing all the pent up pain and misery that he was holding back since hours earlier. I ached to comfort him, but how could I? I was the cause of it all, and I knew that I surely wasn't going to be the solution to any of it.

As the rain poured down on us and I continued to walk down an aimless path down the dark street, I kept my gaze mostly on him than on the course before me. He cried quietly, but spoke a few words under his breath as well. I didn't know whether I was allowed to hear him speak in his moment of private sorrow or if I was allowed to acknowledge this at all.

He spoke words of religion under his breath, quietly veiled by those subtle heart-wrenching sobs that spilled from his lips. I felt my heart rise up in my throat, pulsing like an angry bull at the sight of this teenager cast in my arms, of the weak, vulnerable state he was in, of the way he clutched onto me like if I were a lifesaver. I detested the human contact. I detested the way he cried onto me, as if something like that would help him. I detested the words he spoke to the Lord above; He wouldn't help him. What was done was done. There was nothing more to do about it anymore.

I sought to console him, to tell him everything would be okay and that nothing else would hurt him later in the future, but those were just empty promises. Meaningless words and sentences that weren't worth a thing. Broken, dead words. This boy's very soul was shattered. His self-esteem had crumbled. The respect he held for himself and for others was now gone. The light that he once held in his heart for life was now extinguished. I had destroyed him and his spirit. The way he once was existed no more now. He knew just that like I knew. He cried for his loss of adulthood, spirit shattering a thousand pieces into the night as I clenched onto him, holding his shaking body lightly, fingertips aching to soothe the boy. But I couldn't.

Then, when it seemed like hours, he finally stopped weeping, head resettling against my chest gently in exhaustion. His fingers curled even tighter onto my shirt, fingertips grazing against the fabric lightly, tracing the design it held. I shivered, swallowing loudly. And, as if for the first time of the night, our eyes met. His eyes were red and puffy and swollen by mere pain and tears. I wanted to look away, yet I couldn't find the strength to do so. Almost as if I was forced to do so by Him above, to look into the eyes of the hurt and weakened, to feel like scum whenever I did look into the eyes of this boy, to repent for that one sole sin I had committed. I felt tears fight their way through me, my will crumbling down against the crashing reality at the realization of what the boy's life had become. Those coal black eyes told his whole story and, if even possible, more. I trembled against him, gritting my teeth as the tears crashed through my eyes. I shut them, but they still came, harder than I would have liked to. The boy was watching me. I knew he was.

I stopped dead in my tracks, shaking and trembling with grief as I settled him on the curb, covering him with my already drenched sweater and too wet clothes. As soon as human contact with him was relinquished, I ached for him once more and the images came, hard and dark. I trembled with anticipation and gagged at how little control I seemed to take hold within me. Those coal black eyes watched me. Even in the darkness they followed me. He didn't say a thing. He only watched me. No fear nor hate was visible in his dark gaze. Only confusion, one could call it.

I cried freely, but still covered my face as I sat down on the curb beside the boy, give or take a few couple of spaces away from him. I wasn't to be trusted in a position like this; this was how it all started. The images wouldn't stop, the hot, tight feeling he caused me could have almost made me sick, and the look he was giving me as of now was something I didn't need. Remorse.

I needed his hate, his wrath flailing against me. I needed him to fight against me like he did… I wanted him to run away. But he didn't as much as I wished he would. He stayed. Watching me with those dark eyes that were full of confusion and regret. For me. I shook my head, the tears falling quicker as he inched closer to me, fingertips grazing against my arm lightly, his touch sending a scorching flame against my already too hot skin. He didn't recoil even when I tried to shake his feel from me. His fingers remained in the same place, pulling me towards him, pulling me into the endless abyss of the confused allure he held over me. My heart raced, my sobs quieted, tears still spilled, but I was so confused. What was he doing? Why was he daring enough to rest his fingers upon my skin when he knew what I was capable of? Of what I'd done…

The sobs racked my body once more and the boy pulled me into a hug, naked chest pressing against my clothed one in a tight embrace. I clutched onto him, my cheek resting against his neck, fingers grasping at his wet back, grasping for my sweater which seemed to slip off his shoulders, exposing those creamy white shoulders. Forbidden thoughts formed in my mind, the heat almost becoming unbearable to a point, tightening in the pit of my stomach, traveled up, and lodged in my throat. I suddenly wanted to throw up. I struggled against the cages of my body, gritting my teeth and crying tears of fury against his cold and shivering neck, his heart pulsing quickly beneath his skin, against my cheek.

He didn't say a word. He embraced me even tighter, my sweater slipping off his body completely and onto the curb, next to him. I grabbed it and pulled away immediately from him, as if snapping myself from a trance, slipping the fabric over his shoulders once more and then I stood. Tears still spilled, but I dared not to look at him. Dared not to be tempted and remembered of what I'd done. My fists clenched tightly. The boy stood, his gaze on me. He rested his hand on my clenched fist.

"I'm sorry." I blurted out through a broken sob. The first words I spoke to him. His hand slacked against my fist. He looked down now, shoulders shaking. The words hit him hard. He was crying again. "I'm so sorry…" I ached to comfort him. He looked without hope. My fist unclenched and my fingers twitched against his slackened fingers. I wanted to ease his pain. All was lost in his life.

Rain fell no more. Thunder rumbled in a distance. Lightning flashed briefly. His head fell against my chest. His fingers grasped at my own. He squeezed at them and linked our fingers loosely. I looked down at our intertwined fingers and my brow furrowed. Why was he insinuating human contact all on his own? Didn't he see the dangers that I saw? I stared at his shaking figure for a while before my eyes darted back to our mingling fingers, back to the danger that was me. He didn't understand that. Couldn't understand that. Why? My heart started up again, racing against my chest so quickly that I felt it was going to crash out of me. I hardly knew the kid, yet, here he was, touching me like something terrible that happened hours earlier hardly affected him. Clearly, it did; he was bawling his eyes out because of it and I couldn't necessarily do anything about it. I couldn't tear my hand away from his. I couldn't pull away from his shaking figure either. I'd be a pretty bad person if I didn't let him cry on me. But I was still to be considered a bad person even if I did let him. I stayed still as he brought our bodies closer. He stared up at me. My head spun. We were so close. Close enough that both our breaths were mingling with one another, almost as if greeting each other as old friends. His lips parted to speak and mine quivered in response. I swallowed. This close proximity was stifling. For me anyway. This didn't seem to affect him negatively; he hardly even noticed the closure of this position. I did. And it was terrifying for me. I inched to get away from him, to get away from the way his fingers seemed to enclose even tighter against my own, his thumb tracing blind designs as he stared up at me, tears no longer brimming in his red, puffy eyes. I swallowed. Without any hesitation, he kissed me full on the lips, body straining against mine in anticipation and want, taut, naked muscles stretching against me, on me, all over me. I froze on the spot.

I panicked. My mind instantly reeled. I couldn't register what was happening. My heart crashed crazily against my chest as his hands cradled against my frozen face, keeping me in place, and caging any sign of struggle I'd counteract on my part. Beneath the close proximity of our bodies touching so intimately, I felt his heart racing as badly as mine. He was staring into my eyes as I was into his; there was no shock or fear on his part that signaled he was affected by this in any negative way. His eyes closed. Mine did so as well. Why I didn't push him away, I didn't know. I held him close, my fingers curling around his naked forearms possessively. I brought him closer to me and embraced him, deepening our kiss, aching for his taste, his beauty within.

What had come over me? Why was I doing this with him? Why was he doing this with me? What had come over us? Had he forgotten the dangers I possessed over him so quickly? I couldn't be doing this with him. Not now. Not ever. But, now see, that was the case. I couldn't pull away. It wasn't because he kept him in place, but because his taste was so addictive and delicious that I couldn't seem to tear myself away from it. He couldn't either. I clutched onto the back of his neck now, claiming him, yanking him so close to me I could feel our hearts beating at the same pace. If possible, his seemed to beat even quicker than mine.

I was a sick guy…

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><p><em><strong>AN:** So? What're your thoughts? Enlighten me, please. Much appreciated._

_~With much adored love, KK247._


	3. Insanity

**A/N:** Another update. :) Enough said.

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><p><strong>Silent Bridges<strong>

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><p>He was asleep in my bed. He was wearing my clothes. My sheets were tangled around his pale legs and winded around his thighs and above. He breathed in slow, steady breaths. He looked calm; serene. A picture perfect version of normality and tranquility. But that wasn't the case. He wasn't as calm as he was now an hour ago, two hours before I'd brought him into my house and offered him temporary shelter for the night; there was possibly no way for him to go home without facing questions of his parents. He was so tired, I remembered. I wasn't. I offered him the warmth of my room and he accepted. He didn't utter a word, but nodded. I took site in the living room and he took site in my room. He fell asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow.<p>

But I couldn't sleep. I tossed and turned on the couch, thinking and thinking hard about the boy that resided in my room, of the boy I checked up on every five minutes, of the boy that kissed me long and hard hours before… I shut my eyes at the vivid memory. I'd pushed him away, I remembered. Didn't look at him as I lifted him off the ground and into my arms, covering him up yet again, my sweater covering mostly everything. What had come over him, I didn't know, but he didn't kiss me again, as much as my sick mind desired him to. He didn't look at me either, but I remembered he was in deep thought. His face was too serious, too impassive; his eyes contemplated facts and ideas in his brain. Nothing seemed to affect him, it would seem. I was frustrated with him. I wanted him to feel something. I wanted him to cry and push me away because I had caused the inevitable. I wanted him to treat me like crap. I wanted him to press charges against me, to hate me, to hit me. I wanted to feel something from him. Anything. I didn't care what it was, as long as he showed negative emotion my way. It was what I needed. It was selfish, I know. I wanted to ease the pang of guilt and disgust within myself. I wanted him to be put in therapy because of me. Put on medications because of me. Go insane because of me. I felt terrible. I wished for all these things for him, just to keep myself happy. I was a horrible person. I hadn't known this side existed until I did this. I hadn't known any of this was capable on my part, but, as the saying goes, 'Never judge a book by its cover', I found it to be true. I could have kicked myself.

However, as much as I wanted him to be miserable, I wanted to keep it this way. He didn't show emotion; it was the best thing I could ever ask for. I mean, if it didn't affect him in any way, then there was nothing wrong with him. This would all blow over in just a few days' time. I would forget about it forever and I would go on with life as if nothing had ever happened. I'd resume where I'd left off in life. I'd be normal once more. He would be, too, if he forgot about it as well. It could have been the way it would have happened. But I doubted it would ever end that way. It was just too good to be true.

I heard him muttering from my room. The door was open. He was muttering in his sleep, deeply disturbed about something. That was the main reason why I checked up on him every five minutes. He muttered in his sleep about the many things bothering him. Never once did he mutter about what had happened to him, about what I'd done, all the screaming and crying he'd done while I raped him. He was muttering prayer words. They were broken words and sentences, but they still made sense. He called for his parents a lot. He laughed, too. The laughter was a strange sound to my ears; foreign, if you will. It didn't sound human coming from him in this circumstance.

I got up from the couch, throwing the covers away from me, suddenly frustrated. I made my way to my room and peeked inside. He lay there in the bed, sleeping so soundly, I believed nothing could wake him. The sheets were no longer tangled around his body anymore. They were strewn away. Abandoned. I noticed they were stained with something dark. My brows furrowed. I leaned closer to get a look, stepping into my room. I lifted the thin sheet, fingers gripping lightly at the fabric, careful as to not smear the strange-looking substance. But it was already dry. He groaned quietly as I pulled at the fabric for a closer look, shifting his body, shirt rising up as he did so. His pale back peeked from underneath his shirt, startling me as the beautiful, welted and damaged skin of his caught my attention. Did I cause all of that? When I was fucking him, did I push him into the granite so roughly he bled everywhere? Even from his back? I wondered where else he could have bled.

I looked down at the fabric in my hands. I dropped it. Blood. There was so much blood on it. On his shirt too. He was hurt from head to toe. I noticed now. The morning light poured into my room. He turned in his sleep, breathing soundly. Peacefully. It almost covered the reality of it all crashing down on me. His face was scarred, arms scattered with bruises and scratches, neck decorated with welts. An acrid taste filled my mouth. My tongue stung. My stomach churned. I wanted to throw up. But I couldn't tear my eyes away. I was frozen on the spot. I was… shocked. Repulsed with myself. Angry. Both at myself and at the boy in my bed. It raged at the tips of my fingers, aching as they curled into fists, sheet clutched in hand. How could I have done all that? Why didn't he fight back? How could he let me push into him like that? How could he just let himself get fucked as if it was normal? As if it didn't matter to him? Or affect him?

I suddenly felt the need to wake him up. I wanted answers. I wanted to know why the hell he was so unemotional about this whole situation when here I was going insane because of my current position. But he slept soundly through my silent moment of insanity. The taste of copper filled my mouth. I groaned. I bit my tongue again. I was bleeding. This time, I didn't go to the restroom to check how bad it was. I welcomed the pain, thrived off the horrid, burning feeling it gave me. I sat on the bed, next to his pale feet. They were small. Nothing like men's feet. His toes were small. Exactly like a woman's. I stared at the boy now. At all of him.

When one thought about it, he hardly even looked like a man. He looked more like a woman. He was frail-looking. I looked down at the stained fabric that now lay abandoned at my feet. He bled easily, bruised easily, cried easily. His features took the same sharp, beautiful shape as that of a woman. He had long lashes, rosy cheeks, and pink lips. My anger quieted for some reason, only by looking at the boy. Maybe it was because he looked like a woman so much, I didn't feel the need to be angry anymore. At least, not in the way I saw him. He was pretty. I thought of the way he looked when I fucked him.

My loins stirred at the unexpected thought.

Why was I acting this way? What had I done to myself? I had to get away from here. I had to get him away from here. Far away. He shifted. Immediately, I stood from the bed as his leg brushed against my back. The feeling I got from it - despite that it was the small brush of a touch - I didn't trust it. I had a feeling he was going to wake. But, before he could crack an eye open, I hurried my way out of there before he could see me, shutting the door only slightly, keeping it just a crack open for my view. Who knew what he would do next? This kid was unpredictable.

I didn't know why, but, for some reason, I wanted to be there, sitting next to him like everything was fine and dandy. I wanted to feel fine and dandy. But I wasn't. We weren't okay. We were broken, messed up people. Nothing would ever be fine between us.

I heard the bed shifting quietly. He made a quiet sound, then he sat up. I watched him. I held my breath. He couldn't see me, right? Morning light shone through the window. The light of the sun gave off a faint glow on his skin. He looked unnatural. It hypnotized me. His beauty…

I tore my eyes as quickly as possible as I realized how tight my pants had suddenly become.

I'd never really been attracted to other guys. I'd always liked girls. I always had a girlfriend. They were all hot, too. But, I don't know, with this kid, it was a strange exception of welcoming. He didn't really look like a guy. He didn't act like a guy. Only slightly, yes, but not enough to be considered as one. He didn't do anything remotely close to that of a guy's antics. I wanted to tear myself away from the kid, away from the way he looked, the way he acted; it reminded me so much of what happened. Tears of rage pooled in my eyes. I realized I seemed to be doing that a lot now - crying. I couldn't stop it. The guilt was killing me. But the feeling in my pants was getting tighter. I was on the verge of exploding as I watched the boy through blurry eyes. He examined the room he resided in briefly, then, before I had any time to run to the bathroom and relieve myself, his eyes met mine through the open crack of the door. In that instant, his eyes changed. I froze and swallowed. Did it finally enter in his mind? Did he finally realize how much anger and resentment he was supposed to feel? He would hate me now. I'd be happy to get thrown into jail if it made him feel any better; I know it made me feel better. Everything would be solved. He'd go through therapy and I'd get thrown into jail. Everyone would be happy.

Knowing this, I stepped in the room, and pushed the door open, hardly giving a shit that I sported a hard-on. He stared at me through intense eyes. They were glowing. Very dangerously, it seemed, and they seemed to look even more dangerous as the morning light shone upon him. They lured me closer to him. He stood from the bed. His eyes traveled over me, over my hard-on, stopped very briefly, then traveled back up to meet my eyes. Almost everything suddenly went in slow motion. He took hold of my arm, leading me to the bed. He pushed me down to sit on it. He got on his knees. He eyed my tented pants.

My heart paused for a moment. Wait… this wasn't going over as I expected. He was supposed to hate me. He was supposed to punch me. He was supposed to… He wasn't supposed to do this! He couldn't!

His lips parted, as if to speak, but he didn't. He stared into my eyes confidently, then eyed at my pants, at my problem. He swallowed, biting his lip. He was scared. I was sure he was. He definitely looked the part. He didn't want to do what he was thinking of doing. He was so scared. I was about to get up from the bed, but he stopped me, pushing his hand on my hip, pushing me back down on the bed. His eyes met mine once more, and they were darker. The light of the sun accented the severity of his scars, of the welts across his neck, of the scratches and bruises his arms sported. I was tempted to get off the bed for a second time, but he stopped me yet again, climbing on top of me, sitting on top of me. My cock twitched at the feel of his ass against me, of the feelings of want he caused to surge all throughout my body because of him. It caused an unexplainable, torturous pain to me. The tears of rage pooled in my eyes again.

Why would he want to do something like this again? Hadn't he learned? Hadn't it sunk in?

"Are… you… stupid…?" I huffed as he rolled his hips against me, grinding against me. I fought to bite back a moan. My mom was still asleep somewhere in the house; what if she heard? But, then again, even if she did, she'd make no note of it. She was a heavy sleeper. Although, despite that, my brain was muddled. I couldn't really care any less.

He didn't answer my question, didn't seem like he wanted to. But he gyrated against my clothed cock even harder, faster. His palm pressed onto my chest for support. His eyes closed, his cheeks flushed. He bit his lip even harder now, drawing blood. Quiet moans escaped from within him. The heat between us caused me to sweat, caused the feeling in my stomach, in my cock, to become stronger. Unbearable. I wanted more. I wanted to touch him. At least for a moment. The clothes were an obstacle, screaming to be rid; I fought against the temptation. My fingers twitched. I wanted to touch the beautiful, battered and bruised and scratched skin. I wanted to feel him. I settled both of my hands against his fast-moving hips. I clutched onto him, digging him into me, molding him into my body.

Tears fell from my eyes. All of this was so wrong. I wanted to erase the feel of his skin against me, of the way his lips caressed my own in the midst of this all, of the way his body made me feel. But he felt right against me.

Our clothes flew in the heat of the moment. I admired him and he admired me. His eyes darkened with lust. He rubbed against me even harder now, the flush of our skin causing the sensation to feel like Heaven to us both. His neck tilted to the side, the sun hitting the angle of his beauty perfectly. His lips parted. His quiet moans were beautiful.

I admired how his naked chest looked in the broad daylight. It was like marble. His nipples were pink, exactly like his lips. I was tempted so suck them. He was so beautiful. I pulled him down towards me for a kiss, and, for once, I didn't feel the least bit of remorse for him. Because of him. I smiled against the kiss slightly. His hands gripped at my face, as if gripping on to the last breath of life he had in him, and he kissed me deeper. I gripped his ass. He moaned. I probed around for a while and shoved three fingers inside him. He pulled away. His eyes were shut tight. His lips stretched over his teeth as he hissed in response to the odd, unexpected feeling. I watched the way his face contorted into pain. His hand still rested upon my chest as my fingers impaled him. His fingernails dug deep into my naked chest, leaving crest-shaped indentations. He raised his hips. I watched him. He slammed down on my fingers, hitting a sensitive spot. He cried out, tears falling from his eyes. He looked so beautiful when he cried.

Our breathing came hard, fast. We were left breathless as he impaled himself onto my fingers, preparing himself properly for me. The sight was too much. I couldn't take it. I removed my fingers from the throbbing heat he offered me - he nearly whimpered - and crashed myself into him. He lost control. I hit the right spot. The walls of his heat tightened around me, embracing the sex offered into him. His head was thrown back, his mouth open in a silent scream of pleasure, his nails dug deep into my chest. I moaned at the feel of the throbbing pain he caused me. Of the pleasure he gave me. Tears spilled from his eyes. Both from pain and pleasure. I crashed into him over and over, my fingers curling around his thighs, tightening with each thrust I gave into him. He let himself. He went along with it. He felt good about it. His hand curled over mine. He tightened his grip on my fingers. He started to ride me. That drove me insane. Over the brink. It was such a beautiful sight…

"Shit…" I whispered as my sex caressed his insides, hitting the same spot dead on, over and over and over again. He was moaning so loudly that, for the briefest of moments, I was worried my mother might wake up. But that thought ceased from my mind as he kissed me, pressed against me so tightly into place that I felt as though I was made for him - a perfect fit.

It was a sick thought, yes, but it was what I felt. At the moment anyway. I pressed into him deeper and, in that instant, he came, moaning softly through his teeth, against my lips, an intangible moan of both religious words and my name. It was a strange sight, a strange sound, a strange feeling, the way he moaned my name. As if it was a breath of fresh air that he took in speaking my name. I pulled away from our lingering kiss. I flipped us both over, fucking myself into the constricting heat that surrounded my length as he rolled my name through his tongue, like a prayer, a mantra singing in my ears. I lifted his leg over my shoulder, tightening my grip on his thigh as I angled in a completely different way. I thrust into him, huffing as I bent him over to kiss him. It was the strangest of addictions, his lips; they had me coming back in ways that I could hardly stop myself. He bit me softly as our lips met. He slipped his tongue, too. That had me going a little faster in my pace against him. He was moaning into my mouth. I was losing that very last bit of control I had in me. The pool of heat was tightening in my stomach, coiling, coiling, coiling…

"Naruto…" He whispered quietly, his voice alike that of an angel's.

In that instant, I thrust into him with such force for one last time. His toes curled. His fingers dug so deep into my skin I was sure he broke the skin. With that thought, I filled him, a guttural groan slipping from my lips. I fell on top of him. He made no sound of protest as I did. His leg slid from my shoulder slowly, but I didn't cease the tight grip my fingers had on him. My eyes roved his body. Over him. His face. He looked ethereal; too good to be true. His eyes were shut. His lips were quivering. His breaths came out in ragged, quiet gasps. He had a slow-like way of movement occurring in his limbs. He could hardly open his eyes, let alone blink. He sunk into the warmth I offered him, relaxing and muttering softly into my chest. I closed my eyes as well, sleep overtaking my senses and draining my strength. I listened to the steady pace of his heartbeat as my lullaby, my fingers still gripping at his thigh, caging any and every escape. We only had a few more hours before school started. I could take this moment and make it last until the morning, because, right now, I didn't feel guilty.

I felt at peace.

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><p>Throughout the day, I felt strange. I waltzed through my classes numbly, without another thought in my head, without the slightest idea of where the hell I was going. Though, I always found myself in the right class. No doubt with the help of my 'friends,' I suspected.<p>

It was noon. Lunchtime. I didn't have the slightest appetite and I wasn't in the mood to deal with anyone in the least. However, my 'friends' had different ideas about that. They followed me everywhere. They joked about stupid things. They talked about stupid things. I wasn't feeling it. All I could think about was the boy. He was distracting me from my classes. He was distracting me from my everyday routine. Although he didn't come to school - I told him not to, mostly because he looked like hell when we woke - he was the person who kept me from focusing properly on my assignments, even though the idiots who were practically in the same classes I was kept joking about everything and nothing, avoiding in doing the assignments completely as well were a distraction for me. They went on with life as if everything was normal, as if I hadn't done anything to get accepted into their stupid group. My mind reeled with the thoughts of the kid. I wondered whether he came to school or not, despite my words. I wondered if my mom knew he was there, if she heard anything at all. And if she did, she would ask, and I'd be tempted to tell her everything, to which she'd probably throw me into jail at knowing all of this. I poked at my food in anger. My 'friends' still joked around, hardly noticing my disturbed state. Some 'friends', huh?

Why did he make me do it, I wondered. He had to be deranged in the head to go and do something stupid like having sex with me, his rapist. Was he a masochist? Did he thrive off humiliation? Didn't he feel the least bit guilty? I knew I did, because, after I woke from our moment a couple of hours later, I felt sick to my stomach at the sight of his battered body in my arms, with me still in him, marking him as mine, though I knew I hardly deserved such a thing. Reality crashed down on me again. Next thing I know, I find myself puking into the toilet bowl miserably, throwing up every single thought of his naked body, of the way it curled into me, of the way he moaned my name, of the color of his skin when the sun shone down on him, his lips… My insides burned from how much bile I threw up.

I didn't deserve it to do this to him, I said to myself in that moment, as I gripped onto the toilet bowl for dear life, fearing for anymore vomit that crawled its way up my throat, he didn't either. Why did I do it? Why didn't he fight me off? I was shaking so badly. I was pale, nothing like my normal skin tone; I looked dead. Sick. He was concerned for me when he woke. He didn't speak. How could he? He must have realized the sickening truth of it all, of his actions. But he didn't.

If only.

He cared for me as much as he could. He urged me to drink water. He watched me when I fought the urge to look at him. I was sure he was in pain. He was limping. He was shaking, too. His limbs were screaming in protest, I knew this. The pain was etched clearly in his eyes, in his face. But he fought against it. Fought against succumbing to the agony that screamed at him. He wanted to rest; it was painfully noticeable. He spoke no words as I demanded he stay in my home. He didn't argue. Didn't seem like he wanted to. If anything, he seemed relieved to hear such words. He relaxed, I remembered, but didn't move. Couldn't, I assumed. He was frozen on the spot by his pain. I didn't touch him, but urged him back into my bed - the thoughts of earlier raced in my mind once more. I avoided the way his stare penetrated into my soul. Guilt surged into my heart tenfold and I didn't even look at him. His mere presence made me nervous. I escaped out of there as fast as I could, before either one of us did something unthinkable again. Mostly on my part. I mean, what if I was tempted to try all of it again? Would he try to fight against it this time around if I did?

"Hey, Naruto, you want to hang out after school? We're going to go smoke out at Kiba's house; his step dad's out of town." Ten Ten's voice slipped through the crevices of my mind, thoroughly shocking me from my trance. I turned to look over at her. She looked like a whore today. Her makeup was smeared all over her face, as if she was trying to impress someone. Anyone, she hoped. I looked at all my 'friends' and they watched me expectantly, waiting for an answer. Kiba was looking at me with deep concentration; he was the serious one of the group, besides me. He wasn't smiling. He was zoning out, I noticed. This seemed very out of place. How was it that not a soul recognized this? Was he finally realizing the atrocity of what he forced me to do? Was it all coming back to haunt him, I wondered.

He met my eyes. And, for a moment, we sat there, staring at each other in silence, while the others laughed at some stupid joke the other told, distracting them from the silent exchange of words between us. Then he looked away from me, the connection between us broken as he suddenly laughed as well. How fake, I snarled in my mind.

Ten Ten's arm linked through mine. She breathed against my ear lightly. She liked me. I knew this even before I joined this stupid group. She always looked at me in a way I never did. She constantly wanted my attention. She always acted like a girl when I was around, flipping her hair about, as if that would magically be the cause to make me fall in love with her one day. I laughed at this thought. Never in a million years, honey. She bit my earlobe gently now. She wasn't shy when it came to her feelings. I didn't pull away. I let it happen. I didn't care.

"Or unless you want to come to my house… my parents are never there anyway." She murmured. The thought of her and me alone in her house had me shuddering, but not in a good way. Never in a good way. She took it as a shiver of pleasure, though, and she giggled lightly, the sound of her laugh reverberating in my ears. Oh, what a sickeningly sweet and fake sound that was, too. But I didn't mind it. I didn't find myself gagging like I did with the boy. For once, in this moment, I could really care less about him. All I needed was a good, quick fuck, like with this bitch that was obviously offering herself to me; I wasn't going to turn the offer away. She wanted it, I wanted it; who was really going to stop us? I put on the biggest, fakest grin I could possibly muster, pushing the thought of the boy away from my mind and pushing away the look Kiba was giving me. I didn't care anymore. Not now.

I kissed her. She laughed into the kiss, slipping her tongue into my mouth. She tasted pretty good. Like cigarettes and beer. So early in the day. Our 'friends' whooped around us, cheering us on. We pulled away. I looked at her. She had a dazed look in her eye. I laughed at her.

"Count me in." I growled softly against her and pulled her in for another kiss.

She laughed again and brought my hand to her breast. In public. It felt good. But I wasn't into it.

Still, I kept my composure, and went along with it.

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><p>Ten Ten's house was big. Like mansion big. I could honestly see myself in every single one of those rooms, ramming into her like no tomorrow. We were already high, so I could see myself going along with it.<p>

We were making out on her couch in the living room. A movie was playing in the background, but we really couldn't give a shit about it. She was wearing a skirt. I had one hand on her thigh, while the other was in between her legs, fingering her into oblivion. She was like putty in my hands. Literally. And the bud that we smoked made it all the better. She was irresistible to me as of now. She clung onto me as if clinging on to her dear life. She was biting me, licking me, sucking me, touching me. She grinded against my fingers, against the feelings I gave her. I probed deeper. She whimpered. I brushed against something. She went crazy. Her body racked with waves of pleasure seeping through my fingers. She was getting wet. Really wet.

As I reached to unbuckle my pants, she stopped me, wild lust dancing in her eyes. I stared at her, frowning. Her eyes burned into mine.

"Do… you have… protection?" She was breathless. Her chest heaved up and down. She was getting restless even asking that question. I was just getting plain irritated.

"No." I breathed back, but pressed my fingers deeper into her. She huffed, moaning softly. That was a pretty sight. "You're on the pill, though, right?"

"Well, yeah, but -"

"That's all we need." And I kissed her again, slipping my tongue into her sweet-tasting mouth. But she didn't cease in stopping me. I groaned, pulling away from our lust-filled kiss. I was raging a fucking boner here, and yet, here she was, denying me what she wanted to give me in the first place. "What? What now?"

She sat up on her elbows. I remained in the same position, fingering her. Damn, she was pretty tight for a whore offering herself all over the place 24/7. She bit her lip, trying to keep herself from moaning, but, judging from the way she looked at me, it was hard. I was hard. She was shaking. I could tell she couldn't keep it up anymore. But, still, she insisted on torturing herself.

"We still… have to be… safe… Unplanned pregnancies… are… the worst…" But the way I pressed even harder into her, so eagerly and insistently, she lost her train of thought. She urged herself further onto my fingers.

"Damn…" I murmured as my fingers disappeared into her, into her wetness.

I unbuckled my pants fully now and pushed them from my body, slipping my dick out. Ten Ten had a good look at me. Her eyes grew wide. Her cheeks flushed a deep color.

"You're… big." She mustered quietly before I removed my fingers and pushed into her.

She cried out loud, her body arching up off the couch. She reached out for me, her lips crashing onto mine eagerly, desperately. Her nails raked against my clothed back. Nothing about this excited me. It turned me on, yes, but it was nothing that made me want her. She was there. I was there. She was horny. I was horny. We wanted to fuck. We were fucking. This was what I needed to keep my mind from drifting to the boy, of the way he looked compared to her, despite the alikeness they shared. It was strange. The feeling she gave me was very different compared to what the boy made me feel. When I fucked him, he made noises. Beautiful noises. Despite that she made noises, they were in no way associated with the way he sounded and made me feel. He made me want to ram into him nonstop, while she, on the other hand, was just there. A wanton whore. I made her feel good. She did nothing to me.

I shook my head as her moans broke through my train of thought. I was thinking about him; I was comparing her to him. This was horrible. I thrust into her harder and harder, faster and faster as I gripped onto her thigh. She was shaking with anticipation, with release. She was so close. Her moans grew louder and louder. Her fingers gripped at my shirt even tighter now, her fingernails digging deeper and deeper into my skin, the feel of pain awakening me. Crest-shaped indentions marked on my back, the pain lingering. It reminded me of the crest-shaped indentations on my chest from earlier this morning. From him. Her features morphed into his, and, for the moment, I actually thought it was him - I was going crazy - she moaned exactly like he did now. She made the same expressions as he did, but, on him, they looked holier. Oh, God…

I came into her, hard and fast, as her own climax came. I made no sounds as she did, calling my name. She practically levitated off the couch as she rode off her orgasm, fingers still gripping tight to me as she stared in wonder at the ceiling. I fell on top of her, thoroughly drained from such an energy inducing activity and she clutched onto me, embracing me. I was sickened with myself. Even if I was fucking someone else, I thought of him. What the hell was wrong with me? Couldn't I go one minute without thinking about him? Apparently I couldn't, because all I thought about was how much I wanted to be with him again, to fuck him again, to kiss him again. It was strange at how much I thought about him. About how much I craved him. I wondered if he felt the same way. At that thought, I pulled away from Ten Ten with extra caution and she moaned softly, whimpering at the immediate loss. Her glazed eyes met my serious ones. I pulled up my underwear, buckled my pants, and zipped them up. She watched me, unable to do a thing, due to the uncooperative status of her limbs. Her skirt was still raised up, revealing her wet pussy. I tore my eyes away from the sight and readied myself to leave, slipping on my shoes. She sat up on her elbows with the very little strength she had left.

"Where are you going?" She questioned, her tone demanding. I despised the sound of her voice now; it was nothing like the boy's. He hardly spoke.

I scoffed.

"Places. What do you care?" I snapped, snatching my backpack from where it lay abandoned on the side of the couch.

How could I act like this when I probably just had the best fuck of my life? It was simple. I wasn't attracted to her. That, and I was distracted from the thoughts of the boy that suddenly invaded my mind, poisoning me. Not even a simple fuck from the village whore could prevent any thoughts from this kid. It was hard not to, though, when the remembrance of our morning mishap kept me going and made me think and wonder of what his intentions were, of what he thought when he was doing that.

Ten Ten followed me on shaky legs as I stepped out from the living room to leave through the front door.

"So, that's it? You're just leaving?" She barked. I turned back to look at her. My patience was shot. I couldn't really give a damn about her. I got up in her face. She leaned away from me, eyes showing obvious fear. I smirked on the inside just a little.

"Pretty much, yeah. Quick fuck and I'm out. That's how it works with your kind, isn't it?" I murmured gently, but the words slipped off my tongue like venom. She took it bad. Her eyes filled to the brim with tears. Her eyes flashed angrily now. She slapped me across the face. Hard. She was strong. Oh, yeah, I didn't approve much of that. I slapped her back. She fell to the floor. She was crying now. But I felt no sympathy for her at all.

Anger flared through my body, itching through my fingers, burning me from the inside out. I had to leave, at least before I did anything else to her. I opened the door, adjusting my backpack, and was surprised to find Kiba standing there, fist raised to knock. His eyes hardened at the sight of me. What the hell was his problem? Wasn't I supposed to be the one hating him? He was the cause of everything. And what the hell was he doing here?

He looked over my shoulder, at Ten Ten's shaking, crying, frail figure. He pushed past me and cared for her, muttering to her under his breath. They conversed quietly. With each word they spoke, it was harder and harder for Ten Ten to speak. I scoffed as he took her into his arms, embracing her. His eyes met mine once more.

"Get the fuck out, Uzumaki." He growled. I laughed bitterly.

"Fine by me. It was your turn anyway."

With that, Ten Ten lost control. She screamed at me, telling me to leave, telling me that she never wanted to see me again ever in her life, telling me that she thought I was nicer than other guys, that she hoped I was different. She was wrong. I was just like all the other guys. Exactly like all the other guys. She just yanked it out of me.

I got in my car and revved the engine, throwing my backpack over my shoulder and into the backseat. I cranked up the stereo, cranked up the volume, and rolled down my window, feeling the fresh air caress me. Hard rock music poured out of my car, drowning any and all sound of nature from outside. I needed to get out of here. I needed to calm down. I needed to take a drive. I pulled out of the driveway of the whore's house and took off down the road. Where? I didn't know.

I bobbed my head to the music, letting the music of the band's suffering fill my ears. They screamed and growled their wistful lyrics, banishing others to hell and back, hating, hating, hating… My hands tightened around the steering wheel, knuckles white. My vision blurred. Red spots dotted my vision. My teeth grounded together. I hated the world. I hated the fake smiles, the fake friends, the fake lives, the fake appearances; everything. I hated everything. Who knew I was capable of so much hatred? Who knew I harbored such feelings like these for so long? Who knew I could learn to hate so much? All because of this? I didn't know what to do with all this hatred. I had no control over it. I was blind with all the hate and anger. My sight bled red. My fingers ached. I had the urge to punch something. Anything.

As soon as I pulled into my driveway, the feelings soon faded away, because there was the boy, sitting on the curb, reading a book. Just like he was doing on that same night. Except, this time, he was wearing my sweater. It looked oversized on him. He had too much a small frame to fit into it. He looked frail. Sick. His skin took on a pasty white, instead that of a porcelain doll. His eyes were sunken; they had lost all luster I'd seen in them hours before. He looked broken, abused. He hardly looked like a boy anymore. He was abnormal-looking now. He was still beautiful to me, strangely.

When I cut the engine and the hard, screaming rock music cut short, he stood from the curb on shaky legs, suddenly watching me with dead eyes. I stepped out from the car slowly, keys jingling in hand as I shut the car door closed. He limped his way over to me. He wasn't scared or angry or anything. It seemed as though he was dead inside. No emotion took hold in his eyes. But I knew there was something burdened deep inside. The way he stared at me so deeply at the moment explained much of that fact.

He sensed there was some sort of tension in the air. He observed me quietly, fingers probing at the sides of my face, at my temples, at the middle of my forehead. He massaged at the spots gently. I closed my eyes at the touch, hands reaching up to cover his own. The touch was intimate. Too intimate. It felt odd. I didn't like it. He didn't mind it. However, I couldn't tear myself away from his lulling touch. He didn't seem to want to stop.

"You're angry." He stated.

The sound of his soft voice startled me; I'd never heard him speak at a normal tone of voice before. The way I remembered his voice was all breathy moans, whether of pleasure or pain. I didn't even think he'd speak at all. I snapped my eyes open and his gaze now held a new emotion: confusion. I swallowed. Was it wrong that he eased my troubles, when I caused him his own? I pulled away from his touch, avoiding his confused and suddenly concerned stare. His hands fell to his sides. I ached for them again. The anger and hate was returning. Who knew what I was capable of doing with him near me? It wasn't safe. For either one of us. I took a step back.

"Yeah…" I replied quietly through gritted teeth. He was persistent. He didn't care that I was a danger to him. He stepped forward. I flinched. "Don't get near me." His fingers settled over my arm. My vision burned. My fingers ached once more. They clenched into a fist. He was so close. I had very little control over something like this.

His fingers curled over my chin, turning me to face into his lost eyes. I swallowed hard. I watched as his lips parted to speak.

"You wouldn't hurt me." He said. So seriously. So sure of himself. So sure of me. He had full confidence in me. He believed that I wasn't capable of hurting him. This angered me even further. I was capable. I could do it. He could see right through this; he didn't believe me. "I know you won't. Every time you look at me, there's pain in your eyes. And you can hardly stand to look at me for even a second more." My fist slackened, and the anger in me ebbed away suddenly. Was there really pain? Pain that I struggled to hide from him? How could have he noticed all this? Didn't he try to push it all away?

"I could…" I heard myself murmur as quietly as possible. The very thought of hurting him scared me. What would he do to me if I did?

He cupped at my chin, staring into my eyes with such intensity that the mere thought of hurting him faded away. I fought it hard to stare away from the intense stare, fighting against the way I was feeling for him at the moment. He kissed at my cheek tenderly, his lips lingering just at the corner of my lips. He was so close I could smell him; he smelled faintly of baby powder and cookies. I breathed him in, pulling him close to me, pressing him against my chest as my eyes slipped closed. His head fit perfectly at the crook of my neck. His arms encircled around my waist. He was so small compared to me. Shorter than me by a couple of inches or so. He clutched onto me so tightly. I felt like the luckiest guy in the world. I was insane.

I didn't know what it was about this kid that made me feel this way, that made me feel he wasn't a troubled kid, which I knew he was. He made me feel like no one else did. He made me feel like we were the only two people on Earth. Like we weren't just two guys. Like I didn't rape him. Like nothing affected him more than I did in the most positive of ways as he saw it. Insanity was taking hold of me. Of both of us. He kissed me. I kissed back. There was no use fighting against it anymore. Insanity took hold of me once more as I led him into my house.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: **Well, that was dark. :o It was supposed to shed a little light, but... it came out kinda fucked up. Sorry. :/ But, eh, I hoped it was accommodating to your taste. :D

Review, please!

Much will be appreciated.

**-With much, much adored love, KK247**


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